War takes the brilliant ones. She pulls the ultimate heist in taking them from society. She forces them into her servitude and they rebel. Yet, I wonder, does she take them? Or does she make them? Perhaps, she is the fire that causes the pine cone to open and the seed to fall to the ground. During war, valor is lifted up in the same hand with deceit. In war, truth seems lost behind propagated lies. Yet, if we lean in and gaze at her deeds, does not truth seem brighter? The deceit of rulers may live on in infamy-but the light of truth grabs the soul and begs men to follow. They must have met her before. She must have caught their eye in a time past. For how could they recognize her know, in tattered rags, shaved head, and starving flesh? Her innocence was taken and tarnished. Yet, those who knew her, they saw that light in her eyes. The light of an imperishable soul. Maybe he hadn’t known her before the war. Maybe he heard her song, flowing on the wind, across the Rhine and over theaters and shell torn valleys and he listened. Truth’s intoxicating song pulled him from despair and he saw the hell he was in. Suddenly, men saw truth and her love in trampled souls and down-turned eyes.
For during war, truth may seem to hide. During battle her star may leave the sky. Yet, in those whose brilliance, though seemingly lost, she shines within, truth finds a home. War takes the brilliant ones to hell and back and leaves us with their belongings, journals, and tormented thoughts. We walk the Russian front and hear of the beauty in the midst of hell.